


Truth and Consequence

by artistic-writer (Itrustyoutokillme), shardmind



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Creampie, Creampie eating, F/M, Masturbation, Mechanic!Killian, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rum, Smut, Strip Poker, Vaginal Sex, face fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22105087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/artistic-writer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shardmind/pseuds/shardmind
Summary: “I’ll tell you what, Swan,” Killian begins, tapping a finger to the deck.  “How about a little game of Truth or Consequence?”
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 124





	Truth and Consequence

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this ask](https://artistic-writer.tumblr.com/post/189368858765/truth-and-consequences-title-game) from wordsmith-storyweaver to artistic-writer! 
> 
> enjoy!

Killian’s going to kill her when he finds it. It’s the only thought running through Emma’s head as she dials his number with one hand and reaches down between her legs to start herself off with the other. She’s soaked from the anticipation alone, fingers sinking effortlessly into her tight wet heat, knowing the punishment for her crimes will be much to her liking. Clinging to the courage that had allowed her to call in the first place, she adds her favourite toy to the mix. The silicone vibrator does not compare to the real thing but, in a pinch, it does the job. 

After four impatient rings, she gets through to Killian’s answerphone, his static-tinged voice instructing her to leave a message or call the workshop during business hours. His message cuts off with a monotone beep and she takes centre stage, now is her time to shine. Shyness forgotten, along with any hope of a good nights sleep tonight, she turns up the vibration just enough that the microphone will pick up the insistent buzz. 

“Killian,” falls from her mouth, caught in a breathy moan as she catches her clit with the tip of the silicone cock teasing her folds. It’s embarrassing how worked up she is from the thought of him alone. It hadn’t even been hours since she saw him last, hair still wet from the shower as he buttoned up his work shirt. He’d looked so good and, honestly? She’d missed him when he went, seeing her off with that signature smirk that’s both a patient promise and a delicious threat. 

Anxiety creeps into her chest at the thought of him receiving her gift. Will he respond? Will he come home and fuck her there and then? Will he make her wait the agonisingly long seven hours until he’s finished up with work? Will he keep her waiting longer, her own personal brand of punishment? The thought has her clenching, desperate for him already. It’s the first time they’ve played this game. “Wish you were here. Just thinking about you, _fuck_! I’m so wet.” 

There’s a faint squelch as she slides the toy home, alternating the settings between half and full power to bring about her release. It’s the way Killian always likes to tease her and it gives Emma a sick satisfaction knowing that he’ll recognise the tempo over the phone and regret ever getting out of bed that morning. 

Her orgasm sneaks up her spine, creeping up until her back is arched, toes curled and she’s screaming out _Killian_ until her voice falls to whispers. She’s still working herself through it, slick pumps of the vibrator - now on the lowest setting - drawing her through the aftershocks of her release. Breath heavy, chest heaving, she lets the smile spread across her lips. He can’t see it but he’ll hear it. He always does. 

“You can thank me later.” 

  


* * *

  


Will makes a noise in the shop and Killian isn’t sure if the ringing in his ears is from bumping the back of his head on the underside of a car hood, or from his cell phone cast haphazardly onto the top of his tool chest.

“Get back to work, Scarlet!” Killian calls across the garage, his voice echoing in the iron beam rafters set high in the roof space. He rubs at the back of his head, knowing he is going to get some kind of swollen bruise courtesy of his apprentice’s horsing around. “Now,” he growls, not letting the younger mechanic offer another one of his _many_ excuses.

Killian isn’t sure why he lets the man stay. Old enough to know better, but young enough to not care, Will Scarlet was _supposed_ to be his respite, his extra pair of hands that his brother had so kindly hired, except Liam had no intention of training the lad himself. It seemed that job fell into Killian’s lap, along with all the others when Liam had gone off and got married abroad. Who knows when he was coming back? Liam had basically left him a _‘don’t wait up’_ message, hastily scrawled onto a post-it note and stuck to the fridge in their apartment, before swanning off across the ocean back to blighty. England was a lot of things, but since that day, Killian had hated his homeland, simultaneously for taking his brother during what would have been their busiest season with two experienced mechanics, and for leaving him with Will Scarlet. 

The lad was alright, in a sense, but he was too young to know a monkey wrench from a pipe wrench, and Killian had no patience for silly questions. He didn’t know why Liam Jones kept plumbing supplies in his toolbox any more than Will did, and the answers wouldn’t be coming any time soon. Clearly. Sometimes Killian wondered if Will knew his arsehole from his elbow, but whether he liked to admit it or not, Will was all he had, especially if he actually wanted to get home tonight.

“Mate!” Will calls, making Killian flinch. He isn’t about to knock his head again. _Fool me once, Scarlet…_

“Aye, what now?” Killian grumbles, his voice bouncing off the walls again as he stands up and grabs the oily rag he keeps in his back pocket to clean his hands, a contradiction in itself he is sure, due to the blasted things name after all.

Will nudges his head, indicating behind Killian, his forehead smeared with grease. “Your phone is ringing.”

Vexed, Killian spins around, expecting to find yet another Will Scarlet prank. He was sure his phone would be nowhere to be seen, and he would hear the cackle of his young charge any second. Instead, Killian finds his phone sat still, clearly having moved a little across the metallic surface, with a flashing blue light. For a second he considers it might be an answerphone message from Liam, but that idea is short lived, because his brother hasn’t contacted him in the last five days, so why would he now? Killian’s new realisation is that something has happened to Emma, his new girlfriend but an even older friend who just might have realised what a soppy twat he actually is and called to end it.

Sometimes he still has to pinch himself when he wakes up with her in his arms. Things are still new, and fun, and unbelievably sexy, but his first thought is that maybe his long working hours were as he had feared; not made for relationships. With a silent curse to his dickhead brother, Killian grabs for his phone, pressing the button at the side and swiping his still black thumb across the screen until it unlocks.

_You have 1 answerphone message. To hear the message, key 1._

Obediently, Killian follows the instructions on the automated voice message, tapping the correct numbers on the keypad until he is listening to what he thinks is silence. His brow knits together in a frown and he is almost about to hang up under the assumptions Emma has butt dialled him, but then…

_“...fuck! I’m so wet.”_

Oh for small fortunes, because at the exact moment Killian turns to lean on his tool chest, he feels a blush creep into his cheeks, the hot pool of blood in his groin and things south of the border start getting very hard, something he is sure Will Scarlet would never care to see. Or maybe he would, Killian doesn’t know him that well.

_“Killian…”_

He is sure there is a way to describe being turned on instantly, but for all of the treasure in the world, Killian can’t think past the way Emma sighs his name - no, _whimpers_ his name on a breath almost so inaudible that the only way he is hearing it is because he has squashed the phone to his ear so hard he might as well be one with the device. There is a coarse, gritty way his throat dries up, his entire body already craving what he knows Emma is coaxing from her own body with _that_ toy, but he has no relief. He is a parched man in a desert and Emma is miles away, holding a glass of herself in one hand and a vibrator in the other, something he feels needs to be rectified immediately.

But then he thinks, maybe not. Her little session was quick and he can almost taste her on his tongue, but it was over way too quickly for his liking. Emma might know her own body, but she doesn’t appreciate it. She doesn’t savour it. Every bump, every freckle, every curve that fits perfectly into the palm of his hand is wasted in her haste to climb so high, and he is damn sure there is no one there to help her relish how good she tastes on her own lips.

Not until later.

Tonight is poker night. They play every week for giggles and sometimes for each other’s clothes, and tonight will be like any other night, except only one of them will see the grand finale coming. And, Killian thinks, when Emma does, she will be the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

  


* * *

  


The hours tick by, minute by minute, and Emma counts them all. At first, with a smirk, then a smile, then a frown. She’d changed out of her sodden lingerie, after taking a few pictures for Killian’s sake, and into her jeans, passing by the hours replying to a couple of work emails, making a few calls on some skips she’s got lined up in the coming months and mainly just buzzing with the anticipation of Killian’s return, mind overrun with salacious thoughts of what he’ll have in store for her when he gets there. 

But 7 pm comes and goes, along with 8 pm, and 9 pm.

Her frown is replaced with worry.

She can’t focus. She can’t even sit still. 

Killian should be here, and he isn’t. Since her present earlier in the afternoon, she’d expected at least a thank you, maybe even a gift in return, but it’d been met with silence. Nausea claws at her insides, churning up all manner of emotions she thought she’d tampered down way before they settled into this little arrangement they have going on. Clearly not. Maybe she’d stepped too far this time, or maybe Liam had come back, or maybe Will had, as Killian so aptly put it, ‘cocked something up’, or maybe he’d forgotten about poker night. 

Maybe he’d forgotten about poker night.

She bites at her nails, destroying the manicure Ruby had given her over a bottle of Rosé and some bad Netflix rom-com last week, a nervous habit she’d once thought she’d managed to get over long before Killian had even met her, and they’d been friends for years. She’d been dishing on just how good things were with them while Ruby rolled her eyes, irritated that it took them so long to get there. She’d seen it coming a mile off, apparently. The gnawing realisation that maybe, this time, she’s fucked up beyond repair takes root in her chest. Shit. How could she be so stupid! So impulsive. _Good Job, Emma_ she chides herself, tucking her knees to her chest on the sofa. 

There’s not much she can do now but wait, stomach in knots. 

At 9:15 he knocks. Of course, it’s him. He always does that irritating little sequence of taps, like something you’d see on the old british comedies he loves so much, but she’s never been more glad to hear it. The tension leaks out of her with every step she takes, every one bringing her closer to him. With clumsy fingers, she’s unhooking the chain and latch and swinging open the door to bring her face to face with him. _Killian_. 

“Hello, Love.” The words leave his mouth even before his head is fully lifted because he knows if he doesn’t appease her somehow, then his life is not going to be worth living. This was the risk he took when deciding to ignore her quite frankly salacious and downright filthy phone message, but he also thought he would be done with work before now. Killian could kill Will Scarlet sometimes. “Am I too late for poker night?” He offers her a sympathetic smile and holds up a bottle of her favourite rum.

“You’ve got some nerve.” She scowls, but can’t hide the smile that’s been tugging at her since she opened the door. 

“You’re right,” Killian agrees with a bow of his head. He quickly loses his sheepishness, giving her a smirk as he produces another bottle of her favourite rum carefully grasped between his thumb and forefinger, along with a precariously positioned bouquet of not so thornless roses. “I’ll have you know I was robbed for all of these, if it soothes your ire, because all the stores were closed and I had to go to the gas station and Neal was working.”

Neal. The parasite who had once thought he was the man of Emma’s dreams when really he was just the reason for her nightmares. Killian had been there, through her grief after the scumbag had dumped her and she had thought that she would never love again, and he was one of the main reasons Killian had kept their relationship platonic for so long. Jump in too soon and he is no better than Neal, despite what the weasel continued to tell her about the _Jones boy_ even after they had broken up.

Killian Jones wants it known that he is, and will always be, a man. But he thinks Emma knows that.

“Neal.” After so long, the name sounds unfamiliar on her tongue but it still stings just enough to hurt. She’s recovered enough since their breakup that the memories don’t flood back anymore with his mention. She still goes out of her way not to use the gas station he works at though. It’s a shame Killian hadn’t had that luxury. “And here I was thinking you’d died somewhere and hadn’t put me as your emergency contact yet. I’ll take Neal trouble over that any day.” She plucks one of the bottles and the bouquet from his hand and steps to the side to let him in. 

“My apologies, love,” Killian offers. He steps into the apartment, finally over the threshold, and is immediately invaded with the scent of Emma, but not just the floral notes that her shower gel leaves on her skin, no, _Emma._ His eyes flutter closed and he is thankful she isn’t looking directly at his face because she would know he was trying to fight an erection that only she can give him. He’s an open book sometimes and isn’t sure how long he can last knowing that not only has she masturbated recently, but that she was crying his name whilst doing it.

Killian only just stops his own whimper from escaping, swallowing it down before he turns and waits for her to close the door so he can kiss her. Standard procedure. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing suspicious of his later intentions.

“Text me next time, okay?” She pouts, making quick work of the locks, partly for security but mostly so they’re not interrupted. Poker nights are best without interruption. Nothing ruins the mood quite like having to pull on your jeans to answer the door to pay the pizza delivery boy. 

“Aye, love, I promise,” he nods and then gently cups the point of her elbow as he pulls her to him for a kiss. It’s awkward, with two bottles of rum and a bunch of thorny red roses between them, but her soft smile of relief is worth it as it appears against his lips.

“Good,” she pecks another kiss against his mouth, short and sweet, before turning and heading for the kitchen, adding just a hint of sway to her hips, just enough to draw his attention. Making her way around the island, she pulls open a cabinet to retrieve two old fashioned glasses. She fetches ice for herself and none for Killian before uncapping a bottle and pouring a measure for them both, he never was an ‘on the rocks’ kind of guy. Everything about him, sans the oil stains on his uniform, says ‘neat’. Speaking of work... “How was the workshop today?” 

“Ahh,” Killian groans in annoyance, hoping a little that she thinks it was about her message. _Sorry to disappoint you, love._ “That idiot Scarlet,” he grinds out, rubbing the back of his head in memory. “He’s the reason I’m late. You should probably do us both a favour and kill him.”

Swallowing her disappointment and hiding a frown, Emma smiles. “Oh come on, he’s not that bad.” She slides his glass across the bar, lifting her own up in a toast. “Maybe he just needs a better teacher.”

“Then maybe Liam shouldn’t have married the first woman who gave him attention,” Killian grins. He holds up his glass, giving her a nod, before throwing back his head and tossing all of the burning rum into his throat. Probably against his better judgement. He should probably stay sober if he is going to beat her at poker, but if his day just doesn’t call for rum.

“To love, in all its forms.” She follows suit and downs her rum as he had, ice pressing to her lips. He’s avoiding her question and she knows it. She can feel it but, if this is the game he wants to play, she’ll play. She’ll win. Well, she’ll try. She pours another glass for each of them, fixing Killian with the brow quirk he usually saves for her. “Nothing else exciting happen today, then?” 

“Not until now,” he croons, leaning against the counter and shifting his feet apart so that she can slip into the gap that seems to have been made just for her. He sets his glass on the sideboard and reaches for her, aiming for a hug sans rum bottles and roses, but can’t help stop the smirk that creeps on his lips when she tucks her head under his chin as he says his next words. “Just thinking of you. Wishing you were with me.”

“I know the feeling,” she hums, arms working their way around his waist. The scent of oil and grease permeates her senses as it always does when he’s this close. She doesn’t remember when it became such an integral part of his scent, but it is, to the point that Emma can’t tell where Killian’s own musk ends and the workshop begins. He’s warm and solid and she missed him, missed this. _That Bastard_. “I managed to distract myself. You know, with work.”

“I don’t believe you.” Killian makes sure his words come out more sarcastic and teasing than accusatory. The night is still young. He pulls back until he can see her face, round and glowing in the kitchen lighting, her lashes brushing the apple of her cheek as she looks up to him with a coy smirk. “I knew it,” he declares. “You’ve been playing cards all day. Well, mark my words, love, you will _never_ beat me. You might be able to win by yourself, but I am a whole new experience you are just not prepared for.” His words have taken on a slightly darker tone, gravelled by the smell of her orgasm that still hangs thick in the air. For a second he wonders if she can smell it too, especially when, in his delight, he sees her cheeks pink at his words. 

Her stomach drops at his thinly veiled promise. His words shoot straight to her core and linger as her arousal rears its head again. With him this close, there’s no escape. She wants him more than she cares to admit. He knows. Of course, he knows. He always knows. Looking up, directly into his eyes, so blue and dangerous it’s almost impossible, she smirks. 

“Maybe I’ve been practising,” She lets the words linger, fully sink into the space between them before leaning in closer, bringing her palms to rest on his chest and teasing the hair that peeks from the always open top buttons of his shirt. “But that’s only because I know you play dirty,”

Letting one hand snake up to cup his stubbled chin, she pushes up onto her toes for a kiss. It starts slow, languid and tinged with the warmth and the unique spice of the rum he’d bought her, but it doesn’t take long before his tongue sweeps into her mouth, taking it deeper and deeper before she pulls back, leaving him hanging, lips slick and wanting. Taking another sip of her drink, she stares him down with a sultry gaze. “And I will too.” 

Before Killian can stop it, his eyebrow is bouncing up on his forehead and his lips are twitching into a sly grin. Does she know that he knows? Is she wondering if he knows that she knows that he knows? His brain might implode if he thinks about it anymore. There are, after all, more pressing matters to attend to. He takes a sip of his newly refreshed drink as he peers at her over the rim of the glass, slowly and purposefully maintaining eye contact as he swallows and watches her lips flit to his as his tongue slips out to collect the remnants of alcohol there. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Emma nods, not quite able to focus on anything other than the glisten of rum on his lips and the fond memories of what they look like when glistening with _her_. Now’s not the time for that though. It is poker night, after all. What would poker night be without poker? Reluctantly, she steps back from the space he’d made for her between his legs and holds out her hand to him. Without question, he takes it, following as she pulls him away from the island towards the dining-turned-poker table she’d set up earlier in the afternoon while impatiently awaiting his arrival. “Shall we?” 

“Love, I thought you’d never ask.” He smiles, somewhat more confidently than he should, because he knows she is good. He taught her to be. At first, he had let her win, and if the way she took it out on him in the bedroom indicated, she knew, but of late he has found it difficult to best her. Killian smirks, swiping his glass from the counter top as she swipes the bottle, watching her arse as she sashays up to the table, unfairly he might add, before she lays down some ground rules. Only the sound of her voice reminds him way too much of his answerphone message and he only just makes it into his seat opposite her when his erection rears its head once more.

“We’ll play our usual.” She plays it up as much as she can, sliding into the chair on the far side of the table, making sure Killian can see how she crosses her legs before tucking herself beneath it. Knowing him, he’s probably thinking something salacious, but it doesn’t hurt to encourage that train of thought. She wants to win, after all. 

“But if you fold, lose or get caught in a bluff," Finally, she lets herself fully take him in; the scruff of his beard, the peek of chest through the top of his shirt, the darkened eyes that meet hers and the defiant brow quirk he pairs them with. He has an unfair advantage, seeing as he’s wearing more clothes and all. “Something’s gotta come off.”

“Alright,” Killian agrees cockily, reaching for the card deck between them. “Down to the skin or are we saving that for the bedroom?” He swears, from the way her mouth hangs agape at his words, that she knows. He’s given too much away at this point but doesn’t falter as he deals the cards. Two for her and two for him before the deck is stacked neatly back between them on the green felt covering. “Nevermind,” Killian shrugs, not giving her a chance to answer. “You’ll be naked before me anyway.”

  


* * *

  


He shouldn’t have been so bold, despite his obvious nature, because after seven rounds of folds he could only blame on his own dealing, and two he had lost to her fair and square, Killian suddenly feels very naked in just his underpants. To his credit, he isn’t half as bad a player as he thinks he is, because Emma too is down to just her bra, having already divested herself of her panties because she knew he wouldn’t be able to see her anyway.

_Damn you, Swan._

But this hand was different. Four cards out and neither had folded. They were either holding the same hand or one of them was fed up with their game and was letting the other win. Killian knows, despite his drunken train of thought, that she would never let that happen. _Time to bring out the big guns._

“I’ll tell you what, Swan,” Killian begins, tapping a finger to the deck. “How about a little game of Truth or Consequence?” He smirks, toying with the point of his canine with his tongue, watching her eyes watch his mouth as he does. “If, when I turn this last card over, I win, you’ll be completely naked and at my mercy.” He watches as she contemplates his words, the bridge of her nose scrunching a little with thought. “But if you win, well, then you don’t have to answer my question.”

He grins, boyishly, and he knows he has her interested.

“You’re on.” She nods, trying and failing to not bite her lip in anticipation of his move. That, and anticipation of what comes next. What comes after. _Fuck_ , even the thought of it has her thighs clenching together. Killian would get off on that if he knew. Maybe he does know, maybe he can see how much he’s affecting her just by watching as she swallows the lump in her throat, trying to match his confidence while being completely wrecked by his presence and the introduction of rum to her system. 

It lingers as a slight sluggishness in her extremities as she toys with the edges of her cards, a tell that this hand is better than her last. At this point, she’s too far gone to care that she’s not hiding her tells anymore. She needs him. Whatever this new game is, she’s got this hand in the bag. She won’t have to answer his question and he’ll be sat there, naked and at _her_ mercy. The way it should be.

She doesn’t expect to lose, but she does. 

The last card is an ace, which when you are normally holding one with a king, you’d win, but, unluckily for Emma, Killian has two of the bastards sitting in front of him already. Three of a kind. Three aces. Every way you say it, she loses, which is why, when she looks up to meet his darkened ocean blue eyes, he can’t help but smirk a little wider.

“So glad you asked,” Killian begins arrogantly, knowing her question before she even says it out loud. “My question is-.” He pauses, taking his time to empty the remainder of rum from his glass with a smack of his lips as he pushes himself to his feet, loving the way her cheeks redden as he makes his way to her with his excitement evident in the front of his pants. Who was he kidding? Killian had gotten hard at the sight of an ace. It’s not long before he is behind her, letting the tip of his erection brush over her spine as he helps her out of her bra, slowly and deliberately, because, after all, he did win the right to savour this moment, and is then leaning forward until his breath ghosts over her ear as he continues. “Are you quite sure you got it all out of your system? Because, if the way you whimpered my name seems to suggest, that toy has left you woefully unfulfilled, and by the way this place smells like sex and sin, it appears as if you gave yourself a second helping after you ended the call, didn’t you, love?”

He didn’t have to rest his hands on her shoulders as he spoke, and he didn’t have to lean so close to her ear, but where is the fun in not? Killian Jones, if anything, was all about fun, especially with her.

Emma lets the words wash over her, surrounding her in the knowledge that yes, he had received her earlier present and yes, he’d played coy all night just to rile her up even more. Clenching her eyes shut, she whimpers. She’s mad, infuriated that he made her wait all day for this. She’d do it a thousand times over, and a thousand times after that but still, that’s no way to keep a lady waiting. Steadying her resolve, she stands, turning to face him. He’s so close, she can taste the rum on his breath through his parted lips. He might think this is his game, but it isn’t. 

She might have lost, but she hasn’t. 

“That’s two questions, _love_.” Taking on a most seductive tone, she shows Killian exactly what she’s made of, standing and turning to face him, eliminating all space between them. Her peaked nipples press into the thick dark hair of his chest and she can feel his erection pressing into her lower abdomen. Teasing him like this is a high all on its own, knowing that he could slam her back onto the table and fuck the living daylights out of her without resistance, but that he’s choosing to tease her instead is its own kind of torture, one she takes and twists and gives as good as she gets. 

“I had a third and fourth helping too.” She licks her lips, catching his in the process because of their proximity. He tastes of rum and fire and every time she wants him more than the last. “I did tell you I’d managed to distract myself.”

Transitioning from friends to lovers had been effortless and, sometimes, Emma finds herself waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s maddening because she knows, deep down she knows, that Killian cares for her deeply, more than either of them are willing to admit just yet. However, right now, her earlier anxieties are the furthest thing from her mind. All she could ever want is in the circle of his arms as they hold her, the cant of his hips as he fucks her and the way her name falls off his lips like a prayer. 

She’s suffocating him with her scent, a heady cocktail of her own unique smell that is quintessentially Emma, and then, perhaps most intoxicating of all, she has that odour that tells him that her revelation of a third and fourth time is not even close to a lie. Emma smells different when she comes undone in his arms, even more addictive when it’s by his tongue, and he knows that her wicked smirk and attempts to test his resolve are how she wins. Emma always wins. The way she begins to writhe against his naked form doesn’t help either, and before he can stop himself, he lets his poker face slip.

“Fuck,” he hisses, tilting his head back in an attempt to extend his sexual dizziness her presence has caused. Even that is something he never wants to be without. That and the images dancing behind his eyelids of her fucking herself with the vibrator. “Fuck, Emma…” His words trail off, and even he is surprised he managed a whole two because the warmth of her skin against the tip of his erection when his skin shifts is agony, and all he could wish for is right in front of him.

_Gods, I fucking love you, Swan._

“I mean, that’s the plan–” 

He gives her no time to finish whatever sentence she was trying to muster before finally ending his own suffering. Killian kisses her, _hard,_ pushing her back a little as he inhales her with his mouth, his closed eyes only offering him what his imagination thinks she was doing earlier that day as he steps into her space and pushes her entire body back into the kitchen. He doesn’t stop, hands on her face, brushing the hair from both their eyes, his tongue darting into her mouth where the tip runs along the roof her hers, making her giggle under his assault. And then hands on her hips, kneading the flesh there possessively, half in frustration because of the way she makes his cock weep and half because, with a growl, she is his. 

She was his friend and now she is his lover, giving all she can, and by the Gods, can she give.

Killian tears his lips from hers and leaves her in a confused daze before stepping back from where she is slouched back against the fridge and lowering his gaze at her, eyes black from arousal and lust, before nodding to the floor at his feet with a salacious grin.

“On your knees. Four times without my cock in your sweet cunt is too many, so how about you do me a favour and even the odds a little?”

There’s no hesitation as Emma sinks to the floor and reaches up to pull down his last remaining garment. She needs him. She’s needed him all day and, if the dampness between her thighs is anything to go by, she’s just as desperate now as she was then. Killian’s cock springs up against his belly, eager and proud and so deliciously thick. She doesn’t even realise she’s licking her lips until her tongue catches the taste he’d left behind. Her knees protest as she rolls forward, closer, leaving just enough room between her face and his crotch for him to see that she deliberately pauses. With careful precision, she presses a kiss to just below where he wants her most, teasing with playful licks. Her nose nudges the base of his cock as she presses another feather light kiss to his balls, looking up at him through her lashes and knowing that her ministrations will earn her a just reward later. 

Working her way up his length with torturous kisses, she finally reaches the head, capped with a few beads of his delicious precum. They’re gone as quickly as they appeared, gathered on the tip of her tongue before she’s swallowing him completely. The twitch of him in her mouth catches at the back of her throat and it takes everything in her not to gag but she resists, she’s good at this, he knows she is. With one hand, she reaches up for his wrist and places it on the back of her head, praying he’ll know what it is she’s asking. Her other hand covers the length she’s not able to reach as she sucks him down deeper, punctuating bobs of her head with hums that should be unravelling him, piece by piece. 

She can’t say it with words but her eyes say _please_.

“Alright, love,” Killian smirks agreeably, again reading her mind. There is no shortage of time when they can do this, read each other like a book, know exactly what the other is thinking without either of them saying a word. Synchronized is just one way to explain them, soul mates is another, but whatever people think of them, Killian knows that even now, cock buried deep in the back of her throat, one hand oh so gently flicking over her nipple to tease her further, that even that is too great a distance between them. “Open wide.”

She’s already giving him so much of her talents but he knows she has more. Gods, he hasn’t even felt how wet she is but he knows, just _knows_ from the way she is canting her hips against nothing that she isn’t getting any release. Cruelly he thinks it serves her right for having so much fun without him, but he also knows that friction isn’t what she wants right now. She wants him, his cock, harder, faster, _deeper_ inside of her mouth until she can feel the sting of tears in her eyes and the battle between her gag reflex and her need to breathe. He knows she likes it, this way or with a hand around her throat, either way, he is only too eager to appease.

Killian threads his fingers through her hair, brushing it out of the way he can get a better view of himself in her mouth, and she hums in appreciation, the vibrations going straight to his balls. Balling her locks in his fists is his sign for her to prepare, relax the back of her throat and greet his cock head like an old friend. He swears her heartbeat speeds up, or maybe its his, the pulsing in his ears matching that of the swell of blood to his cock when he holds her head still and thrusts, not stopping until he has crushed every last inch of his length into her mouth and his cock is covered in spit.

“Good, girl,” he soothes, letting her take a breath, caressing her chin with the lightest touch of his fingers. “You want more?”

Her lungs burn and she gulps down air like she’s been starved of it, probably because she has been. Killian’s touch is grounding, giving her something to focus on other than the ache in her throat that hurts just on the pleasurable side of pain. His voice slips along her spine and rests in the pit of her stomach, stirring her already quaking arousal into a frenzy, and she can’t help the whine that falls as his thumb catches her bottom lip. She nods for him, knowing he’ll understand it as a yes to his inquiry but she stops before he can make his next move, taking his thumb between her parted lips and sucking it down before releasing it with a slick pop. Her eyes lock with his, blue almost completely darkened, lust filled and hungry. 

“I am not a good girl.” 

“I know,” Killian grins wicked. “And I love you for it.”

Emma is on him in a heartbeat, seeking contact with every part of him that she can. Her arms circle his neck and her lips meet his in an unmatched ferocity she never even knew she had. It’s tongues and teeth and gasping for air when they break apart. She can feel how hard he is, even now, and it only fuels her further. 

“Bedroom.” She growls against his lips, breathing laboured and heavy before they’re even halfway to the finish line. “Now!” 

No second is spared. Killian overpowers her, hauling her into his arms with almost no effort at all, clawing at her skin as he powers through the apartment. He is sure he knocks something over but ignores the crash because the only sound he can hear is how hard Emma is panting and how greedily she is begging for his cock. He pauses at the edge of their bed, in their bedroom, and it hits him. He said he loved her and instead of running, the reaction he thought she would have, she is needy and wanton and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was even more horny for it.

“Four times,” he mutters, tossing her to the bed with a growl. He’s never going to let her forget that it was just a toy and if she wanted four orgasms, all she had to do was ask. “Four times,” he repeats, grabbing her ankle and pulling her to the edge of the bed. “Gods, what I would give to feel you come on my cock four times.”

He feels her breath hitch when he stills himself at her entrance, her knees pushed up to her chest to offer him the best access to her, the glistening wetness on her folds enticing him like a siren. Because that’s what she is, a lure, a succubus, and she’s going to be the end of him, much to his delight, but not yet. First he is going to make sure she is nice and lubricated by grinding himself down onto her and then, when she is begging for his length inside of her he will know that is when she tastes her sweetest, and he will hungrily devour her.

“If it’s any consolation, I was thinking of you the whole time.” There’s no shame in how she’s presented for him, soaked and bare, ready and waiting. Had there ever been? In the short time they’ve been intimate, Emma has never felt anything but cherished, wanted and desired, when she’s laid open like this, watching as Killian eats her with his eyes. Knowing that he’s hard for her, that he _wants_ her, has her burning with need. “Wishing it was your tongue or your fingers or even your cock. _God_ , Nothing else ever fills me quite like you do. You’ve ruined me.”

“What, this cock, darling?” Killian teases her and he delights in it, in her, in everything she does. In the way she muffles a whine by biting on her bottom lip, keeping her from crying out. In the way she wiggles beneath him and he doesn’t even have to move because she is working herself into a frenzy all on her own. By the way that, despite her obvious arousal, she still halts his entry into her with a touch of her fingertips to his thigh, because, as he often forgets in his haste to get lost, he is larger than anyone she has ever slept with, and that fact alone makes him even harder inside of her.

When he is fully seated inside of her, he feels her soften, all of her muscles relaxing around his length where they previous fought his entry. Not that he minds, because she is hot and tight like this, with almost no foreplay, and he knows that the burning stretch she feels is just to her liking. Has she told him? Not in so many words, but the way her face contorts just so, and her brow looks like she is in pain for a split second before a grin breaks out over her delicious mouth; _That’s_ how he knows.

“Aye, she wants this cock, don’t you, love?” Killian would be lying if he said he didn’t want to fuck her right now. In all honesty, any man would. He doesn’t get to just yet though, and the muscles in his jaw tighten at the thought, but he pulls out and the sound she makes is woeful. 

She calls him cruel, and he thinks he hears a curse word in there too, but he isn’t really listening because he has just one thing on his mind. Killian knows, from their already limited intimacy, that there is nothing finer than dining on his Emma immediately after the girth of his cock has stretched her wide and opened up the flood gates inside of her. She tastes different, angelic, to the point where he feels selfish for leaving her so unfulfilled, that is, until he slips his tongue between her folds and with a soft, mournful sigh, he is forgiven.

There are so many names she wants to call him right now but her brain can’t quite grasp at anything other than the soft _fuck_ that falls from her mouth when he descends on her. With fists full of his dark tresses, he eats her like he’s hungry, insistent and greedy and everywhere at once. It’s unfair how long she had to survive without this, while they were Just Friends and nothing more. It’s a crime how much bad oral Emma has had to suffer through at the hands of scumbag exes when she could have had this, Killian, sinking his tongue deep inside her before sliding out, licking a wide stripe up through her folds, to suck on her clit. 

Fuck the games, fuck the teasing, fuck everything that isn’t _this_ feeling. 

She can’t help but be loud when he takes her like this, his lips firm and devilish as he smirks against her, so _damn_ proud of himself for getting her all worked up and being the one to see her through until she’s screaming as the aftershocks ripple through her. It’s already building, her orgasm, heavy in her gut, sending out warm jolts of pleasure that have her toes curling and thighs clenching around Killian’s head. 

She’s going to have bruises from how hard he’s gripping her thighs and she couldn’t care less. Nothing else matters. Nothing except the pressure of his tongue and the friction of his beard against her flesh. 

His tongue is all over her sex, slipping here and applying light pressures there, until the muscles in her thighs tense next to his ear and he knows he has found the best spot. She tastes divine and he thinks himself lucky that he gets to eat her out like this. Killian knows he is lucky. They danced around each other for so long, finally taking the plunge into a relationship, and he very often berates himself for not doing it sooner. Emma’s sweetness, her god given nectar, coats his tongue, his mouth, his lips and the whiskers on his chin so much that he can’t help but reach down between his own legs to relieve some of the pressure in his pounding length.

“Gods, love, you’re so wet,” he growls, letting his eyes flutter closed as he tries to fight off his own orgasm after another lap of her entrance. “You are generous, aren’t you, my sweet?”

Killian thinks he feels her nod but it might just be the way he is rearranging her at the edge of the bed and sinking to his knees on the floor beside it. He slides his hands up the back of her legs, loving the way her muscles twitch under his touch, until his hands are planted firmly behind her knees and all of her is right there, right in his face, like his own personal feeding bowl, and boy is he ravenous for more.

Even though his tongue is tired, Killian never gives up, using his arms to gently rock her entire body back and forth over his mouth. The tip of his tongue brushes her clit on each stroke and he can feel her orgasm building higher and higher until she grabs a fistful of his hair and he _knows_ she is almost there. He delights in taking her there, finding the very precipice of her pleasure and scaling it like a seasoned professional, but just like any pro, he knows, for her, this isn’t enough.

She needs more than his stiffened tongue inside of her, for he knows that his Emma is a greedy girl, and as much as he wishes he could stay where he is forever, Killian also wants her to go completely blind from this release. Just when Emma’s cries reach that point where she can no longer inhale enough air to keep her lungs from burning, he’s on his feet and ramming himself into her slickness like he belongs there and nowhere else. It’s just one thrust, right to the hilt of him, pushing his weight down on her whilst he cuddles her legs to his chest with one arm and reaches down to rub her clit with the other.

Emma doesn’t have to say it, not that she could even if she wanted to, but she’s coming, hard and fast all over his cock, her muscles massaging his length as they pulse inside of her. He loves the way her eyes roll back in her head and she is torn between begging him to move and staying right where he is. Not that she could form any words in this state, and he smirks just knowing that he made her like this.

Stars burn into her eyelids, entire constellations forming and dissipating with each wave of pleasure sent rolling through her. She feels powerful and fragile all at once, a living contradiction brought to a shivering mess by the God situated between her thighs. If she speaks, it falls dead on her ears that can only register the rush of her blood and the throb of his cock, so thick inside her, she can feel each ridge and vein in the throes of her orgasm. To even think about him has arousal that she didn’t think she could muster rising to the surface, hot on the aftershocks of her last, simmering in her blood waiting for one lit match to destroy her completely. 

She wants to call his name, to curse him to hell and back, to scream and scream and _scream_ until her throat burns and the only noise she can make is a soft whine as he takes what she gives him in long, drawn out strokes or short bursts of his hips, but her voice fails her. He’s too far out of her reach but still, she reaches for him, needing something to ground her, anything to sink her nails into as she falls, weightless and full and still so impossibly turned on.

“Such a greedy girl.” His voice is so incredibly dark, full of lust and he loves the way she shivers underneath him as he whispers into her ear. His lips are so close to her skin he can feel the hairs there stand to attention, reaching out for his kiss, a kiss he’ll never relent. Not just yet. “You just like me filling you up, don’t you, darling?” It’s not fair and he knows it, but it’s one of the things he loves to do to her, because, without his teasing, she’d never want to do what he knows she will do next. A twitch of her hips tells him she is there, at that point just after her release where she begins to build up for more pleasure, more of what he _could_ give her, but where would be the fun in that? “Take it, love,” he almost begs, his open mouth almost but not quite touching hers. “Fuck my cock like I know you need.”

She’s so close to falling apart. When he talks like that, begs and demands, it ruins her. She’s ruined for all other men. No one else knows her like he does. No one else knows how to drive her completely insane with words and touches and being rock hard inside her and _not_ moving. He’s a bastard, a devilish scoundrel, and the best fuck she’s ever had. She’s lucky to have him. Despite the protest of her abs, she works her hips to take him deeper but, with legs held tight by his strong arms, it’s difficult. Opening her eyes, she fixes him a look, a deep glazed over stare before she kicks one leg free, anchoring it around his waist to urge him closer while keeping the other flush to his chest. The new angle gives her more mobility and, when she rolls her hips, her cunt swallows him from root to tip. 

_Fuck_.

Killian makes no effort to move but it doesn’t matter now. Emma rocks against him, each time sinking deeper with a flourish of her hips, using him to fuck herself over and over as her thighs tremble from the strain and, at some point, finding her voice enough to cry out when she grinds down just right and his cock drags deliciously against the rough flesh of her g-spot. 

“ _Killian_!” Her voice breaks on his name and she’s trying not to look at his face, knowing that looking at his satisfied, smug smirk will just bring her ever closer to the edge but she can’t help it. He’s wrecked, positively broken as she writhes on his solid length, and for a second Emma regrets leaving her phone on the poker table. It doesn’t matter anyway. The vision of him, completely blissed out by her actions, sears itself into her brain. 

He can’t help it. His eyes flutter closed and his heart all but stops in his chest because the way that _she_ is fucking _him_ is just so erotic, so needy, so very Emma that he can’t contain himself anymore. He’s still, as hard as a rock inside her and the muscles all the way down to his feet are pulled as tight as they will go, his entire body rigid like a board whilst she relentlessly grinds her sex onto him, and he would normally be fine, more powerful, but the sounds she makes are utter filth.

“Fuck, Emma,” Killian hisses because try as he might, she just feels too good to not pull him into oblivion. “I can’t...love...I’m-”

It comes out of nowhere and he knows she is to blame - or thank, he hadn’t quite decided yet - but he knows only too well that by coming first, before Emma had found another orgasm, he will have to clean up, a job he relishes in every time and wishes he got to do more often. His hand on her hip lets her know it’s over, her playtime has ended, and his searing kiss offers her one last apology between stuttered jerks of his hips as he comes inside of her.

“I’m sorry,” he says and he means every single syllable as it comes out of his mouth in the most heartfelt tone. “You are just too good,” he growls as he relaxes his hold on her and she lets her legs fall to his side. “Hmmm, too good,” he hums to himself, his tone that sinister shade of sexual desire he knows she loves as he slips from her and sinks to his knees once more.

She can’t help the frustrated moan that slips from her lips before she can bite it back. She’s come so many times today, one more shouldn’t matter, the claws of it gripping her stomach in a vice as she clenches around the emptiness he left behind. It’s an odd sensation, feeling so full and yet completely empty at the same time, the heat of his release slipping out of her with each involuntary tense of her muscles. 

Pushing herself up to watch him is impossible, her arms feeling closer to jelly than flesh and bone, so she stays, back flat against the mattress as her breath leaves her chest in shallow pants and her eyes flutter shut as Killian parts her thighs. “Are you going to do something about that?” 

"Aye, love," Killian rasps, but his words are cut short when his tongue darts out to rescue a drip of his seed before it is lost forever between the crease of her cheeks. "Don't you worry about that." Just for good measure, and reassurance that she will come again, Killian swats the outside of her thigh whilst his mouth nibbles at the flesh of the inside, his head forcing her legs even farther apart so the cool air in the room can reignite her burning inner fire once more.

It isn't for everyone, eating out your girlfriend after you've just buried your treasure inside of her, but Killian can't think of anything he loves more. It's so quintessentially masculine, dominant, to fucking come inside a woman and then have the balls to reap what you have just sowed. He doesn't care what others might think, it's for him to share with only one person anyway, and he already knows that Emma loves it when, after a good, hard fucking, he decides to explore her a little bit more.

Killian can't get his tongue deep enough inside of her to find all of the best morsels, bit what he _can_ reach is the sponge like little patch of nerves found just inside of her, and when he curls his tongue over the ridges there, he is sure, by the noises she makes, Emma has ascended to a higher plane of existence, and he smirks against her clit because he put her there. Every time is different, somehow brand new and he loves the way she whimpers like she can't imagine being able to orgasm again, but her body has already begun it's dance of betrayal. A mixture of old and new juices help to lubricate his finger as he teases her entrance with a single digit, purposely avoiding her clit as he strokes up and down her labia and begins his new search for Emma's pleasure.

She’s convinced that Killian Jones is the devil with a forked tongue. She’d believe it too if she hadn’t spent so much time with that tongue in her mouth, but here, biting her lip to stop from crying out, Emma could swear there were two of them, working away at her aching flesh. Killian Jones is an insufferable tease. His nose nudges against her clit and she goes to clench her thighs around his head only to meet the resistance of his calloused hands, holding her wide open while he laps up their mess. The messy slurp of his tongue has her orgasm coiling in the pit of her stomach, tight and impossible as she fights the urge to burst.

It’s futile. 

“ _Fuck_ , Killian! I’m close!” Her voice breaks like shards of glass, harsh and shattered and completely destroyed as he strokes lazily at her clit with two fingers, licking insistent stripes through her quivering heat. It’s not enough to drag her over the edge, but just enough to keep her there, waiting on his whim.

Killian loves to tease her. He really does. He loves the way her legs quake, the way she breathes in but only half way before it catches in her throat and she is paralysed by the arousal that courses through her. He loves it because he did that, he alone made the strongest woman he has ever known fight her own body in the throes of his passionate embrace. It’s not a fight she will win, and for that, he feels an immense pride. But teasing is only half the fun. The real goal is to watch her come undone, time and time again, because each time her expression is just that little bit different, that little bit more intense, just like her orgasm.

“Emma, fuck, I’m hard again.” He isn’t sure when his voice changed, when it became so gravelly and dark, but it was probably about the time his cock began to stir again from her flavour alone. She is pure magic, like an elixir of all of his hopes and dreams and to taste her is like heaven, but he knows she is only balancing on the edge of euphoria because she needs him, that stretch and burn that makes her cry out his name, first in relief but then in a plea as her orgasm becomes too much and never enough all at once.

Killian can’t deny her anymore. He’s up on his feet and crawling up over her so fast he can’t even register anything but the feeling of her hot, slickness as he slams himself into her. Her back arches and he can’t help but seize a nipple in his hungry maw, his tongue lathing and flicking against the nub like it’s his own sweet candy, one hand supporting his weight above her as he sets a pace in and out of her, whilst the other finds the epicentre of her pleasure and begins a steadily increasing rhythm against her clit.

“Come for me, love,” Killian encourages, his words molten in her ear. “Come all over my cock, I know you’ve got one more in you.” He gives her no time to form a reply before his mouth is on hers and he is kissing her, hard and dirty, lips sliding open to gobble up each and every one of her moans. All she can do is squeak between kisses and he knows she is about to fall.

Each rock of his thickness brings her ever closer, so tantalisingly close, gut coiled so tight it’s almost painful. Almost, but not quite. It’s too much, the insistence of his ministrations working her up into a frenzy, a combination of his cock, fingers and lips proving the key to her undoing. Killian is the key to her undoing. His breath ghosts over her lips, eyes screwed shut, and seeing him so lost in his pleasure is the final straw. 

She falls, clutching his face in her hands, anything to remind herself that he’s still there, guiding her through each wave as they wrack through her body. 

“Killian– _fuck!_ ”

“That’s it, love,” he encourages with a smirk.

His deft fingers change their rhythm, switching to a side-to-side motion against her clit to ensure she feels the best that she can for as long as she can. He knows she is coming. Killian can feel it, her muscles massaging his length as he glides into her, each ripple pulling him deeper and deeper. He’s not going to deny that watching Emma come makes his soul feel alive, more alive than anything he has ever experienced, and the familiar tingle in his abdomen begins again, prickling at his gut and making his balls pull tight as they slap into her arse.

“ _My God,_ Emma,” he pants, dropping his head until his forehead rests on her shoulder. Killian puts one hand on her knee, spreading her wider, her juices coating all of him and soaking his pubic hair, and he can do nothing but roll his hips into her over and over. White fingernails against her skin show his urgency, his haste to meet his own orgasm, and his muscles tense in anticipation, the head of his cock nestled inside of her as her muscles massage it and pull him closer to the end.

“Oh, Emma, you feel so good.” Fingernails scrape over her skin, down her thigh towards her arse where she knows he likes to find leverage. At the same time, his teeth scrape over her shoulder bone, open mouth ghosting hot breath over the skin there and making it sizzle when his tongue licks away the need Emma so hungrily exposes when her hand flies to the back of his head and he cannot pull away. “I know, baby,” he soothes, slowing his thrusts to an agonizing and torturous pace. “I love you. I’ve got you.”

Killian knows her body in ways no one else does; each curve, each interstice, each dimple. He’s taken his time to learn it, inside and out, with patience and reverence and it shows as she grips at the hair on the back of his neck. He is everywhere. He’s everything. With each rock of his hips against hers, involuntary whines fall from her lips. _Fuck_ , why does he know exactly how to break her down like this? And why does she feel so fucking adored when he does it? She can feel each ridge of his cock as he continues the quest for his own release, clenching to add that extra resistance she knows he loves. 

Emma knows because he’s looking at her like he’s about to burst, eyes screwed shut as she cants her hips back against him with what little energy she has left, each release having sapped it slowly from her throughout the day. Really, she’d known he’d get possessive, finding she’d made herself come without him. She likes playing with that side of him; the slightly dangerous and stubborn side. It comes forward each time he demands she come, each time that silver tongue dips in her core. Anticipating his reaction to her deviance is half the fun. The soreness of their activities is catching up with her, though. Each piston of his hips leaving a dull ache, the rub of his fingers against her clit dredging up stings of oversensitivity. His frustration leaks into everything he does and Emma can taste it. 

All of a sudden, it’s too much. 

“It’s okay,” She whispers, all the breath stolen from her by the intensity of her last orgasm. Her fingers, tangled in his hair, switch to stroking soothing circles into his scalp. “You don’t have to come.” 

Killian halts, the stall of his thrusts alleviating the pull of the muscles surrounding his spine. There is nothing he would like more than to come, _God's_ he wishes it so, but the need to feel Emma come around him, by his hand, his tongue and his cock, has left him drained of all enthusiasm for anything else. She is sated, and he is beyond happy with the outcome, and he hopes she will forgive him the indiscretion of being spent and exhausted. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest, the prickle of bile in his throat from exertions rearing its ugly head before he stops with his cock buried inside of her and it fades away.

"I'm sorry, love," he tells her with unsteady breath. He truly is as well, and he hopes she can see it in his eyes when he lifts his head from her shoulder and braces himself above her. "I'm afraid I have nothing left."

“Hey, _shh_! Don’t worry.” She soothes, using both hands to bring his face close enough so their lips can meet. It’s barely a kiss, just a touch of lips still tinged with the tastes of them both, but the tension relaxes from his shoulders as soon as they meet. “You’re tired. It’s been a long day.” 

Upon closer inspection, Killian’s totally exhausted, eyes half-lidded with a mix of fading arousal and sleep trying to capture him in its clutches. She can feel the edge of it tug at her own periphery, coaxing her into the soft duvet beneath them. Really, after today’s antics, cuddling up and sleeping with him in the more innocent connotation of the phrase seems like a fantastic idea. Emma shimmies her hips back, encouraging him to pull out. He does, cock slipping from her so agonisingly slow that she has to bite back a moan in her throat. The emptiness afterwards is cavernous but the soft sleepy smile on Killian’s kiss bitten lips more than makes up for it. No one else gets to see him this way; drunk on rum and sex and her. She crawls the rest of the way up the bed, laying back and letting her head sink into the soft pillows. With two fingers, she beckons him to follow.

“Come on, get up here.” 

With a smile that is a mixture of serenity and relief, Killian follows and clambers up after her. He stops momentarily to press his lips to her pink, swollen sex, a thank you and also a promise of returning to where he loves the most at a later date. His hands are on her body, skimming up the outside of her thighs, fingers dancing over the skin there that is still so electrifying, until he reaches her stomach and can’t help but kiss her there too. 

“You smell so good after sex,” he mutters against her, nose nuzzling the sweat shimmered skin and scruff tickling at her tummy. “I could just stay here all day, love, if you’d have me.” 

Rather than lay beside her, Killian settles lower down, casting the duvet over both of them as he pins his face to her breasts and curls a protective arm around her waist. He loves it, her skin within reach of his ever hungry lips and Emma’s heartbeat echoing in his ear on every beat. A smile plays across his lips as he remembers that very often her heartbeat will quicken and her nipples harden from the barest of touches, normally as he teases the sensitive skin on the outside of her breasts with his thumb, coaxing the skin to prickle and pull tight under his assault. But for now, right here, he just holds her close and loves the way she cradles his head to her bosom and strokes her fingers through his hair, the idea of chasing his orgasm long gone in favour of _this._

In favour of _her._

“I love you, Emma.” His words are strong and he has no idea where they have come from. All he knows is that he has to say them, has to make her hear them, because if he doesn’t, she will never know how much he wants to stay where he is forever. Where he is loved, by her and only her. His Emma.

“I know.” She leans down to press a kiss atop his head, breathing him in and letting it overwhelm her. Deep down, she’s always known. Even when they weren’t this, when they were just friends and Killian would bring pizza on a shitty night and stay up with only her and less than entertaining made for tv movies as company. There’s always been something and she’s so glad, so glad, that they finally decided to do something about it. There are so many reasons why, a million and one, but the one that slips to the forefront, the most pivotal of all. 

She sighs, letting her cheek rest against his head, the softness of his hair caressing her into a comfort only he can offer. “I know and I love you too.”

Her hand reaches out to find his, impatiently longing to lace their fingers together and fall asleep all tangled up and so filled with love and pride and adoration. He fits in her arms so perfectly, as she fits in his, making space for each other and smiling as their heartbeats fall into sync.

“You can stay forever.” She yawns, pulling him closer until there’s no space between them.

“Forever won’t be long enough,” Killian smirks, his words uttered into the warmth of her skin as he tightens his grip on her hand a little. "But it's a start."

**Author's Note:**

> I’m still not sorry. Salem and I are back at it again with this baby we’ve been working on for over a month. She spurs me on constantly, inspires me to do better and, without her, this would not exist… because she wrote half of it! Duh!


End file.
